


gentle hands

by gold_rush



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Camping, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Gentleness, M/M, Male Friendship, None-Verbal Character, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:51:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_rush/pseuds/gold_rush
Summary: Prompto can't bring himself to get out of the tent. Gladio promises to take him to see the chocobos if he does. But first, they have to get ready.





	gentle hands

**Author's Note:**

> This story sprang from a line I wrote in 'in times of darkness' - which discussed how the chocobros each look after Prompto when he's struggling. Reading that story is not essential to reading this one. (In terms of content, if you read the tags, you'll be okay. As always, there's nothing graphic.)

It looks nice outside, Prompto can see how bright it is - the fabric of the tent wavering in the warm, morning breeze; sporadically revealing the cloudless sky and the legs of his friends. Like he's seeing snapshots of reality rather than reality itself.

Ignis is standing at his makeshift camp-kitchen, as he does at the start of every day, his face fixed with concentration, no doubt whipping up another culinary masterpiece. While Gladio and Noctis are sat side-by-side on their fold-out chairs, legs stretched out casually, just far enough away to avoid being under Iggy’s feet and his consequential wrath. Not that any of them sound wrathful.

Prompto can hear them all perfectly, they're laughing at one of Gladio’s god-awful jokes, he can hear the sweet trill of it so clearly from his position on the ground. From where he's curled up tightly in his sleeping bag, cocooned like he’s freezing instead of sticky with the ever-increasing heat. He knows that he'd feel less sweaty and gross if he just got up but he can’t bring himself to move, he can’t seem to convince his brain that he needs to go outside, that he should be out there enjoying breakfast with his friends instead of moping alone. And it annoys him. Why can’t he just be _normal_ for a change? Why can’t he just climb out of the tent and get a hold of himself? Embarrassment starts to burn his cheeks.

The humiliated gunman lies there silently for a while, for too long, thinking, overthinking. Then he hears his friends laugh again and grimaces in frustration, shifting to lie flat on his back, he can’t even make his face smile. He tries. But it feels so fake it makes him want to rip himself to shreds. It’s no good. It’s no good. He’s no good. Balling one of his fists, he slams it hard against the ground, it makes him grit his teeth but he doesn’t make a sound.

Outside there’s an unusual flash of silence but everyone is laughing moments later, picking up thoughts and conversations like they don’t know that Prompto is about to mess it all up again. Like they don’t know that he’s about to ruin everything… because if there’s anything he’s good at it’s ruining things. Just ask his parents. If you can find them.

  
‘That’s it!’ Iggy exclaims happily with a distinct note of triumph in his voice, disrupting Prompto’s thoughts before they can spiral downward any further, ‘Breakfast is served. Please, come and help yourselves. And Noct, don't forget to take a piece of fruit.’

‘Sure, I'll _take_ one.’

‘And then you'll _eat_ it,’ Ignis says, like a man who's been fighting the same war for far too long.

Prompto watches wordlessly as his friends move towards the food, all he can see is their legs, but he hears Gladio let out a pornographic groan on his approach and Noct scoff at him in disgust. Though, even that’s not enough to make Prompto smile. Not today. Instead, his raises one of his balled fists and stuffs a pale knuckle into his mouth, biting down hard. Tears form instantly in his eyes, his lashes dampening, and that annoys Prompto. No, that infuriates him. How _dare_ his body be able to do that and not what he wants it to do? How _dare_ it make itself into this weak, stupid, quivering mess without his permission?

He closes his eyes, tries to keep his breathing somewhere near steady, not daring to open them again until he hears the approach of footsteps and a gentle cough.

  
Prompto rolls onto his side, Iggy’s feet mere inches away from his body, before the blonde can register it, his friend is crouching down; holding the fabric of the tent away from his face. He looks soft, and normal, and not upset that this is happening again. That he’s doing this again. Even though there's barely been a week between his little episodes this time.

Prompto quickly brushes a few stray tears away from under his eyes, deciding that he can at least _try_ to look less pathetic. He can do that, surely.

‘Come now,’ Ignis says quietly, his voice clear and unwavering but still extraordinarily gentle, ‘It can’t be as bad as all that.’

  
Prompto wants to say that he’s sorry, that he didn’t mean for this to happen again, that he felt okay last night, really he did, but he can’t. He can’t do anything; so he just lies there and he let’s Ignis continue. Like a coward would. Like a friend wouldn't.

‘There’s breakfast outside for you, if you want it? Or I can bring it in here, if you'd prefer?’ Ignis practically pleads, but Prompto shakes his head regardless. He doesn't think he'll be able to swallow it, let alone keep it down. But when he tries to say that out loud he fails spectacularly. His mouth opening and closing like he's a fish out of water. He clamps his lips together with angry resolution. He feels like a dumb child. Where have his words gone? Why have they abandoned him too? Why is he always plummeting so far off the deep end?

‘All right, that’s all right,’ Ignis says, too understanding, and Prompto knows that he’s using his free pass here. Ignis won’t let him avoid eating all day. That’s one of their unspoken rules. Ignis cares too much. And dammit, if Prompto can’t feel his eyes filling up again.

  
‘I wish I could help you more,’ Ignis confesses then, his expression growing heavy as he continues, ‘I wish I could take some of this away from you and ease the burden.’

Prompto shakes his head almost violently at that and hopes that his friend understands, he hopes that he hears him saying: _you always help me, Iggy_. But Prompto can't be sure that he does, even though the corners of his eyes seem to crease in concentration.

After a beat, Ignis opens his mouth, like he wants to say something else, but before he can, a shadow looms over the tent and a new pair of legs emerge in Prompto’s line of sight.

‘What’s up, Iggy?’ Gladio says, but they all know that he knows exactly what's up, because Ignis just reaches out and holds the young blonde’s wrist for a moment before he says, ‘You’re so important to us, Prom.’

Then he’s standing up and Gladio is crouching down - using Ignis’s leg for balance before he pats him gratefully on the thigh. After that, Ignis moves away altogether and Noctis starts talking to him, louder than he needs too, so Gladio can talk to Prompto with an ounce of privacy.

They're always trying so hard for him. And what does he give them in return?

‘One of those days, huh?’ Gladio says, his eyes ghosting over Prompto who’s still curled up on his side, cheeks damp - his eyelashes glistening in the light that occasionally flickers into the tent.

Gladio doesn't hesitate, he scoots inside so there can be no mistake that he means business and Prompto lets himself release a muted whine in reply. It's a pitchy, frustrated, humiliating sound. But it makes Gladio hum. Like he understands the language Prompto is speaking perfectly.

‘Come on, kid,’ Gladio says then, moving so he can pull Prompto up a little and let him rest his head on his thighs, ‘I know everything’s not feeling great right now… but in the end, it’ll all be okay. You'll come out the other side fighting. You always do. And even though you've been battling for so long, and despite it all being really messed up and scary, you never lose. And those… those are some odds stacked in your favour, Prom. Those are some really good odds. And they tell me everything I'll ever need to know about you. You're a fighter. And you're tough. And you're courageous. Even though that never filters down to you. And that's a damned tragedy. Shit, Prompto, that's the most heartbreaking part of all of this. That you think this makes you anything near weak. But you're okay, Prom. I _swear_ you are. And I promise you, this will be okay too.’ At that, Prompto starts to cry. Tears freely rolling down his face as Gladio runs a hands through the young blonde’s hair. There's an easy silence that rests between them then, until Gladio decides he needs to break it.

He needs to be sure.

‘Did something happen? Something specifically, that I don’t know about?’ Gladio asks quietly, and Prompto quickly shakes his head against him. _No, nothing has happened_. That’s good, Gladio thinks, that's a relief somehow.

‘That’s okay. It’s okay. You’ve lost your words again, huh?’ Gladio continues and his heart squeezes in his chest as he watches Prompto scowl and grit his teeth with so much anger and disgust that it feels like a punch in the face just witnessing it.

  
‘Hey, don’t be mad. Not at yourself. It’s okay,’ Gladio offers and then he laughs, ‘I bet you’re getting sick of hearing me say it’s okay, huh? Sorry ‘bout that.’

  
Prompto grabs at the fabric of Gladio’s shirt then, wants to scream, _don’t be sorry, why are you sorry? I’m the one who’s doing this, I’m the one that’s getting everything wrong._ But he can’t say a word. And that just proves his point.

  
‘You’ve got some grip on you, kid,’ Gladio says with a smile and Prompto opens his hand up instantly, worried that he’s gripping too hard, that he’s somehow hurting his friend. Gladio simply uses the opportunity to take his friend's hand in his, interlacing their fingers before he squeezes, ‘You don’t have to stop. Go on, give it your best shot.’

  
Prompto squeezes, and squeezes, and squeezes until his arm’s tired and it suddenly feels silly, like they're over-indulging in a weird, emotionally wrought hand-wrestle. Then, when he definitely can't squeeze anymore, Prompto lets an unexpected burst of laughter slip past his lips and looks up at a grinning Gladio.

‘If I ever need someone to lower me down a mountain with nothing but a rope and his bare hands, you’re my guy,’ Gladio says and Prompto smiles before he feels suddenly ridiculous for being half-curled up on Gladio’s lap. He’s not young enough to get away with something like that. He’s not sure he ever has been.

Prompto pulls himself away, so that he’s sitting up, but his hand is still in Gladio’s grip. The brunette seems to understand and rolls his eyes with a smirk, ‘Look at you, pretending you’re too big for a snuggle.’

  
Prompto smiles at that and flexes his hand, so Gladio lets him go, then he’s reaching into his sleeping bag and pulling out his phone. Tapping out a message before he passes it over.

  
Gladio reads it and laughs, _You don't have to stay here._

‘Nice try. But you know the rules. If you stay put, I stay put,’ He reaches across with ease and nudges the other man playfully before he passes the phone back - Prompto proceeds to write something, scrunches up his face, deletes it, and starts again.

‘That better not have a single variation the word ‘sorry’ in it,’ Gladio muses as he watches Prompto backtrack once more. Letting out a grunt as he waits for Prompto to hand him the phone again.

_We could be here all day. :(_

‘It’s not like I have plans,’ Gladio shrugs easily and Prompto knows that that’s not quite true, they have curatives to pick up, they’re meant to be taking the Regalia to Cindy, and there’s something they have to do for Takka. And that’s just in the morning.

‘Besides,’ Gladio says with a wide grin, ‘I thought that maybe we could hit up Wiz’s place and hang out with some chocobos. How about it?’

Prompto’s eyes go wide and he’s taking his phone back, typing so fast Gladio can still feel the pressure of the phone in his hands when it returns.

_I want to..._

‘Good. So, let’s get you dressed, get you ready, brush your hair..’ Gladio says reaching out to ruffle the blonde’s hair. Prompto automatically ducks away but nowhere near as far as he could. His warm cheek practically seeking out Gladio’s palm, coveting a touch he knows he doesn't deserve.

The phone is taken back and replaced again.

_I don’t think I can._

‘You can. Of course you can, Prom. And I’m gonna help you. All the way.’

_It’s so stupid._

‘No it’s not. Come on. Give me your hand.’

Prompto hesitates, his lip drawn tightly between his teeth. Then he seems to make a decision, his brow creased tight with uncertainty as he takes Gladio’s hand in his. The bigger man hoisting him up, up off the floor and up out of his sleeping bag. Reaching for his boots and slipping them on his feet, not bothering with the laces.

‘Thank you for letting me help you,’ Gladio says then as he swoops down and picks up Prompto’s yellow wash bag and his pile of clean clothes, bundling them under his arm - his other hand giving Prompto’s a gentle squeeze.

‘Good news, fellas,’ Gladio says as they step out into the morning sun together, Ignis and Noctis turning to look at them. Prompto keeping his eyes on the dirt and rock below his feet. ‘Looks like we’re going to see the chocobos.’

‘Aww, yesss!’ Noctis beams, making a happy fist before punching Ignis playfully in the shoulder.

‘Splendid news,’ Ignis grins, his eyes bright as he continues, ‘Noct and I shall pack the car.’

Noctis, for once in his life, seems pleased to begin tidying up and Ignis nods appreciatively at Gladio, who nods back before he leads Prompto away to the little stream near their camp.

He sits Prompto down by the edge of the water, slips off his boots, and puts his feet into the cool liquid. Gladio can see how it loosens up his shoulders. Then he reaches out for his t-shirt, fingers ghosting the fabric.

‘Yeah?’ Gladio asks and Prompto nods, letting the man peel it off his torso. He's always quite embarrassed about this, the way his body looks so small compared to those of his friends. But Gladio doesn't make fun of him, he'd never do that while Prompto was already feeling too small.

Instead, the taller man shucks out of his own shoes and socks, then slips down his trousers, so he's standing there in his boxers, before he steps into the stream and taps Prompto’s shin.

‘Yeah?’ He asks again, low and unassuming, and once again Prompto nods. Lifting his feet out of the water so Gladio can pull his pyjama bottoms off once he's wriggled them down past his hips enough.

‘Let's see what we've got in here,’ Gladio says, rooting through Prompto's wash bag. Pulling out a bar of yellow soap. ‘Oh, man, this smells so good.’

Prompto nods, the gentle wind carrying the lemony scent towards him. And then he watches as Gladio starts scooping handfuls of water over his legs, before dipping the soap and lathering up his skin. It feels so nice, but it's embarrassing, he's not a child. So, naturally, Prompto’s mind starts waging a new war against itself.

‘Hey,’ Gladio says as he takes his friend's hands and pulls him upwards, so he's standing in the stream too. ‘I like helping you. So, it's all right to accept it, Prom. It's okay to be taken care of sometimes.’  
  
Prompto grimaces, not convinced, as Gladio starts washing his torso - front and back. Lingering a little over a wound on his shoulder that hasn't quite healed right. The mark disrupting the gentle sprinkle of freckles that lay there. Gladio makes a note of it, he'll ask Iggy if there's anything they can do about it later.

Prompto’s body stiffens as he feels Gladio's hands swoop down his right arm, towards his wrist. He almost panics. No one can see that mark, especially when he can't find his voice, especially when he can't explain it properly or apologise. But, as always, Gladio washes down to the green and white sweatband that Prompto wears in bed and simply skips over it, pouring water over his hand instead. Not saying a word about it.

Once he's clean, he starts to feel a little better, a little cleaner, a little clearer. But it's not a miracle cure, so Gladio has to put the toothbrush in his hand, has to pour a little bottled water over it, has to give Prompto's arm a gentle nudge. Not that he minds, not that it's hard. He loves the kid.

When his teeth are clean too, Gladio lays out Prompto’s bed clothes on the grass, beside the running water, despite the fact that the sun has already dried his skin. Then he pulls the blonde out of the stream with a steady, offered hand.

Gladio doesn't have to tell Prompto what to do, they've done this enough times. So he lies down on the ground without being asked to, his head dangling just off the edge, just over the water, so Gladio can wash his hair. His strong fingers massaging the gunman’s scalp with the perfect amount of pressure. Never anything other than soothing.

When all of the suds are rinsed out of his hair, Gladio climbs out of the stream, helps Prompto up and then helps him get dressed. Waiting until he’s finished tying up his friend’s boots before he hands Prompto the black leather strip that he always wears above the wrist. Prompto takes it and Gladio turns away. Let's him do it privately. Even though he doesn't know why his friend is so scared about letting anyone see whatever it is that lurks under there.

It takes Prompto a long time, far too long. His brain is cloudy and slow. But Gladio never turns around to check on him. Instead, he's redressing himself, buckling his belt, putting his socks back on, and his shoes. Finally, when he's finished, he just waits, like a patient man, until he feels a soft press against his back.

When Gladio spins around, Prompto throws his arms around his waist. It doesn't take a genius to understand that he's saying _thank you._ So, Gladio bends his knees enough to mean that he can place a lingering kiss on Prompto’s hair.

‘Anytime you need me, I'm there,’ He says, gently squeezing the younger man's ribs, before they separate and Gladio is gathering all of Prompto's things. Their hands entwined as they walk back to the camp, only to see that Iggy and Noct have already packed everything away. So, they walk down to the car, where their friends are talking easily about nothing in particular.

‘Prom!’ Noctis says, as soon as he spots his best friend, beaming at him as Gladio puts everything in the trunk. Prompto inclines his head, it's frustrating. He can't even say _hello_. But Noctis seems unaffected by his silent greeting.

Gladio opens the car door and presses a steady palm against the small of his friend's back, so Prompto climbs in, takes the back seat next to Noct. The dark haired man helping him with his seatbelt. Gladio, satisfied, gets into the passenger seat up front and Iggy reaches out a subtle hand, squeezing his thigh once and then his arm. He knows how much it hurts his lover to see their friend shut down.

Their drive is straightforward and uneventful. The radio is on, but it's low, not at all intrusive. So, it’s almost like a normal drive. Except, Noct has a death-grip on Prompto's hand as he talks about the new King’s Knight update because it's _so cool, super cool_. And he's courteous enough not to leave any open questions that'd make Prompto feel bad about not answering him. More than once, his easy chatter makes the blonde smile, and Gladio smiles at them both through the front mirror.

When they arrive at Wiz’s place, they all act like they're not going out of their way to accommodate the gunman. But, when Prompto sees Iggy's wide smile as they approach the penned chocobos, he realises that they're _genuinely_ happy to be there with him.

‘They're cute, huh?’ Gladio says beside his silent friend, a hand on his shoulder. Watching as the young man's face slowly starts to relax.

Then, Prompto is leaning across the wooden fence, hugging one of the chocobos like his life depends on it. And, when he pulls away, to give the poor thing a little breathing space, his little ‘hello’ almost brings tears to Gladio's eyes.

Noct walks over to his best friend then, and starts cooing at the bird, fussing over it like it's a baby, making Prompto laugh. While Ignis wraps his arms around Gladio's waist from behind and says, ‘Thank you, love.’ The shield pressing his warm hands against his lover's arms, hoping he'll never let him go.

Their day is easy, completely uncomplicated in its structure, and Prompto starts speaking more freely as the day draws on. Until it's not hard work anymore.

And Ignis is so grateful when the blonde manages to eat half of his Chocobo Club Sandwich that he asks Prompto if he wants to race him on the track which, of course, he does. So, they spend their afternoon cheering each other on - taking a little time for themselves.

And, honestly, it's the happiest any of them have felt in quite a while.

 

 


End file.
